How to Capture a Duke(10)

He'd already revealed more to this nefarious-minded stranger than he did  to most others. He'd never suffered from chattering too much before.  Quite the opposite, if his conversations with the women of the ton were  any indication. But he'd never quite succeeded in feigning an interest  in flowers and dresses, and they'd never quite followed his  conversations about war.

In previous years he'd seen the slight, but definite wrinkles of their  noses when he'd mentioned that he was the wrong Carmichael, and their  eager excuses when he'd revealed that an actual duke, his cousin  Bernard, was nearby. Percival's brother Arthur was the fun Carmichael,  the one who effortlessly earned himself the reputation of rogue, and his  cousin had been the sensible one with the title and the vast estate. He  had two sisters as well, Louisa and Irene, though thankfully neither  had debuted yet. Their parents indulged their own interest in travel,  and it was seldom they were not flitting off somewhere in the world.                       
       
           



       

He sighed. Bernard wasn't here anymore. The man's last breath had been  swallowed on the fields of Waterloo, his last action saving his cousin,  instead of himself, from the French.

If his older cousin had only married. If only he had not been heroic and  sailed to France. If he'd had children, particularly of the masculine  variety, Percival would not be under this pressure now, and the dowager  would be able to look forward to the good characteristics of her son  continuing the line. Percival's youthful desire to become a physician  did not endear him to her, and she'd made it plain she thought him  untrained and ill-bred for the momentous task of managing the enormous  Alfriston estates, sprinkled from Sussex to Yorkshire.

What could he do besides strive to be the best duke he could be? His  cousin had died trying to save him. Appeasing the man's mother was the  least he could do.

The woman's scent drifted over him, warm strands of vanilla mixed with  amber and berries. It seemed more complex, more mature than the perfumes  crammed with roses and musk he was accustomed to.

He let his gaze return to her. She hadn't complained once of discomfort.  Occasionally her lips contracted as if attempting to prevent a yawn  from escaping.

His lips turned upward despite himself.

She would almost amuse him, if he could ignore the fact that she was an outlaw.

His stomach hardened. He shouldn't be seeing good qualities in her. She was a professional. A woman of the very worst sort.

Stopping a coach. Letting the rest of her dastardly band linger in the  woods. Yes, she was definitely a professional. He was sure most thieves  would want to work up to that point, conscious of the many things that  could go wrong.

Likely this woman had already experienced all of them.

By Zeus, perhaps she had even killed people.

He shivered and turned to her. "So do you have a name? Or do you just go by Miss Demon?"

She chuckled, but then shifted her legs. "I'll tell you soon. I promise. Or I won't. It depends-"

"On if you get caught first?"

She nodded.

Did the woman mean to kill him after all? Tell him her name to appease  some sort of dying wish, after whatever criminals she consorted with  robbed him? He didn't want to speculate on why it would be bad for him  to learn her name before the trip, and why it would be fine for him to  learn it after.

He scanned the horizon, but no ruffian popped out and no horse galloped  toward him, carrying a criminal branding a rifle. His skin prickled, not  entirely because of the cold weather.

By summer he would be happy and settled, even if he wasn't a doctor,  even if that particular dream hadn't come true. He'd be enjoying all  that everlasting love and such. Lady Cordelia-she was it. One didn't  need to meet her to know it.

He patted the inside fold of his great coat where he'd hidden the jewels  for his future fiancée, and then hastily removed his hand. He glanced  at the Scarlet Demon. Her eyes met his, but she remained as before,  staring straight in front of her, observing as the coach passed  underneath bare branches.

Likely this would all be pretty in the summer, but now snow sat on the  branches instead of leaves and flowers, and he'd seen scarcely any  animals.

By Zeus, what was he thinking about? Musing about flowers and leaves,  like some penniless poet. Though even they had a propensity to wander  the countryside, while he was confined to a blasted coach.

"Your great coat. What's in it?" the woman murmured to him.

She had noticed.

"Nothing." He averted his gaze. He told his heart to stop its frantic  rhythm of thumps, and he told his breath that it needn't quicken as if  he had a cannon trapped in his body.

But he also saw the knife, which was directed far too near him.

He heaved a sigh. "Put that down."

"No."

"It's dangerous." By Zeus, I don't have time for this.

"It's supposed to be."

"What do you want?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing of your concern." He sucked in a deep breath of air. "It's not money."

"Indeed."

"Anyway, aren't you supposed to be able to get money easily? What with  being a thief and everything? You probably have a stack of coins down  your boots." He peered down at them. They were worn, but the leather did  not seem completely lacking in quality. He shook his head. He'd never  met a highwaywoman before, and it was natural for her to not entirely  fulfill his expectations.

"You're asking me to steal?"

"No! Though you needn't act so appalled. It is your profession."

"Then why don't you go around shooting people?" She huffed beside him. "Isn't that your profession?"                       
       
           



       

"If his Majesty's Army wanted me to do so . . ."

"Well I don't steal on whim either." She paused. "Unless the head  smuggler asked me to do so. I mean, then I can be exceedingly  effective."

"Right."

She lowered her voice, and a trace of a French accent sounded. "You wouldn't want to meet me on an abandoned road."

He sighed. "I already have. And I'm being dragged in the opposite direction of my destination."

Far away from London and the ton and the Christmas ball that would mark  the start of his new life. He'd made appearances in London since his  accident, but now Lady Cordelia, the woman who would have married his  cousin, was there. He'd have her by his side, and everything would be  different.

He wasn't sure this ride was all that much worse than London would be.

The thought was ridiculous. His new life promised brilliance. That's why  he hadn't been spending his time dreaming about it while at war. It  wasn't that his new life wasn't something he wanted-it was just that it  was better than anything he ever could have imagined.

That was all.

Another carriage approached them with an actual gold crest and brightly painted wheels.

"Oh dear Lord." The red-headed woman ducked her head down.

"You're reaching to religion now?" He tilted his head. "The first thing  you could do is release me. I'm sure the Lord would approve."

"Not funny." She gritted her teeth. "Just continue driving. More quickly."

He furrowed his brows and swung his head back toward the departing carriage.

"Don't look!" The woman squealed. "That might draw attention."

"So would a woman pushing her head down. They might suspect-" He  grinned, for one second allowing himself to envision just what the other  people might be thinking.

"This is a mail coach," she stammered. "They shouldn't see us on a mail coach. That's not the plan."

"Do highwaywomen tend to travel in greater luxury?" He arched his eyebrows up.

The woman drew her head back up at once, staring straight in front of  her. She pulled her hood up, and Percival stifled a laugh. "Women rarely  ride beside the driver."

"I am not going inside."

He jostled the reins, and the coach darted forward. Soon the luxurious  carriage was far behind, though the woman's nervousness had scarcely  eased.

"Pull over at that tavern."

"Ah . . . Time for me to eat." Percival patted his stomach.

And run away. But the Scarlet Demon didn't need to know that part of the  plan just now. She'd find that out soon enough, hopefully well after  he'd expanded the distance between them.

He smiled as he directed the horses toward the half-timbered building. A  faded sign said Old Goblet Lodge. He just needed to get away before the  woman told everyone who he really was. And have dinner. Zeus knew he  wouldn't be making any stops after he made his escape.

Her smile tightened. "Just don't flee."

"Better not brandish that knife around there. You might find yourself getting hauled over to the magistrate's."